


Notes on observation

by Roz1013



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:39:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roz1013/pseuds/Roz1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is trying to improve his observational skills after Sherlock's death. Something is familiar about Mrs Hudson's new lodgers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Notes on observation

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the Sherlock Mini-Bang 2013 challenge. Story by Roz1013, art by Swankkat

John tended to pop round for tea at Mrs Hudson’s every Sunday since … well since that day. He still can’t really talk about it but he can walk past Bart’s without having to limp excessively since the last anniversary. This Sunday was the three year anniversary of Sherlock’s death and it was better than previous years. All injuries heal over, the scars fade after all.

Sixteen steps from the taxi to the front door. Twelve seconds for Mrs Hudson to respond to his knock. He has been working on observing more. He wonders absently if Sherlock would’ve been proud.

There is a smell in the air… but it is so faint that John barely registers it. Over Earl Grey and Rich Teas Mrs Hudson tells him of the pleasant couple that she has leased 221 B to.

 

“The only problem is dear, that they are at it like… well rabbits, I suppose is the best way of putting it. “

“Surely it isn’t that bad Mrs Hudson?” John smiles. He would never have thought that Mrs Hudson would be the one to complain about amorous couples.

“Oh it wasn’t to start with. But… “

A persistent rhythmic thumping starts from upstairs. John smiles even bigger when he sees Mrs Hudson start blushing.

“… they don’t contain themselves to the bedroom.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much Mrs Hudson. Those sorts of relationships tend to fizzle out.”

He tries to give a reassuring look to the landlady but she just rolls her eyes.

“You’ll see. Anyway, tell me about this Mary that you were talking about last time.”

The hour flies by and every now and again he and Mrs Hudson giggles when the thumping reaches a crescendo pitch.

“It was good to see you John. You should come by more often. And bring Mary.”

“I will. It was good to see you too.”

Twenty-four steps from her door to the main door. That smell… it is like chalk and lemon and bergamot and there is only one person that John has ever met who had that smell. And that person is dead.

The next week John brings Mary. She and Mrs Hudson get along like a house on fire, but John can see she is not that comfortable in the house where he used to live. At least the couple from upstairs have decided to take a break.

He mentions it to Mrs Hudson as they gather their coats, and she just sighs.

“I think I would’ve chosen that their passion continued rather than one of them playing the violin at 3 a.m. “

A pained smiled crosses John’s face.

“I remember that from… before. It was quite hard to sleep through.”

She pats him on the shoulder as they leave. No words are needed.

Mary distracts him all the way home but there is something niggling at the back of John’s mind. The smell, the violin… if it wasn’t for the impressive sex life happening in 221B he would’ve thought that Sher… _no, can’t say his name without wincing yet._

A month later John stands outside of 221B Baker Street. All he can hear is the furious playing of the violin, the player almost attacking the instrument in his(?) her(?) fury. He wants to stay and listen and pretend but Mrs Hudson is waiting for him. She wants him to come have a look at something on the stairwell.

The violin player suddenly stops. John can hear voices, clearly a man and a woman and when Mrs Hudson opens the door for him the familiar rhythmic thumping has started again.

This time the smell of the cologne is stronger in the hall and increases with every step that John takes to 221B. He wants to open the door and see who is living in this space, but … not yet.

There will be time for that. Mrs Hudson glares at the door when they walk past but doesn’t say anything. When he finally goes down for tea the couple have thankfully stopped.

He hears a soft tread coming down the stairs, definitely the female half of the couple and turns around to introduce himself when he finds he can’t breathe.

Molly Hooper. Molly Hooper with a massive hickey on the side of her neck smelling of sex and… the smell he used to associate with Sherlock.

Shocked silence. Before John can help himself he runs up the stairs, wrenches the door open to see a navy silk dressing gown on the floor. And a very naked and clearly surprised Sherlock Holmes sitting on a ridiculous floral sofa.

The first punch was done without thought. The second one was a bit more satisfying. Before he can hit him a third time Molly grabs his hands and shouts “Enough!” into his ear.

Sherlock hasn’t done anything to protect or defend himself. He just looks at John with resignation in his eyes and John knows that Sherlock thinks he is going to walk out of here and never come back. Because there are some things you just don’t do. You don’t pretend to kill yourself and shag a girl that you never gave the time of day to when you were alive and you certainly don’t do this in the same flat that you used to live in and NOT TELL YOUR GODDAMN BEST MATE SHERLOCK THAT YOU ARE ALIVE. Oh. He must’ve started shouting at some point

.

Molly heads over to Sherlock to check him out. John just stands there.

“John, I…”

“Save it Sherlock. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t think I can hear it. I… “ He looks at Mrs Hudson.

She is wringing her hands and John sees red when he realises that she knew who lived in the flat above her.

He storms out.

At five thousand steps he starts to cool down. Fifteen hundred steps later he checks his phone to realise there are 11 missed calls. Ten from _him_ and one from Mary. He contemplates calling either of them but he doesn’t trust himself at this moment. He walks into an off-licence and for the first time since Afghanistan he buys whiskey.

In a dingy flat on the outskirts of London John Watson was drunk. The practically no-name whiskey is almost all gone and John just stares at the wall.

A blink and there is a shape in front of him. Fucking Sherlock Holmes.

“Why? Does everyone know except poor John Watson? Why did you hide yourself Sherlock?”

Sherlock grabs hold of the whiskey and to John’s surprise takes a deep pull.

“This stuff is foul. You are going to hate yourself in the morning.”

“Because that will make a difference from the last three years. I could never get over our last conversation. Not your note. The one in the morgue. Jesus. Does Mycroft know?”

“Not yet. I wanted to tell you first.”

The bottle was empty now. Sherlock sighs deeply and clenches his head in his hands.

“That’s not entirely true. Molly needed to hear from me first. We ah… things happened after I jumped. I may not have left in the best of circumstances. “

“Did you sneak off in the middle of the night after a shag?”

“After a shag that we had because we had a fight. It has been … a long time since I have seen her. “

John starts giggling.

“You bastard. I haven’t forgiven you yet. At least this proves one thing.”

“And what is that?”

“You are as human as the rest of us.”


End file.
